A World Up in Flames
by Miranda le Ginger
Summary: Ferelden has been at peace, but now a threat looming in the distance threatens to tear the country apart. Ferelden is surely doomed, unless a Grey Warden steps up to the plate. Circumstances bring them together, and destiny intertwines them all. Heroes are not born, gentlemen: they are made. Join them in their journey to save all they hold dear. Original dialogue
1. One Way Ticket to Hell

Author's note: A little while back, I was commissioned by FenixV to write a grand story featuring Aeducan and Brosca. Well, I decided to go a step farther and use all the Wardens, although most of them will not actually be Wardens. The idea of the story greatly intrigued me, and I have been itching to write it since I heard of it. Now, almost all of this chapter was written out long before he had ever commissioned me; it was actually typed out as a prologue of sorts to another idea I had, but I thought it would be better suited here. Big thank you to FenixV for asking this of me, as it was not only my first commission, but a darn fine idea.

Disclaimer: I do **not** own Dragon Age: Origins or any of the characters. Nor do I make any money off of this story.

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_The sky was a dark, swirling mass. A green tinge hung over his senses, giving the vision a sinister aura. He could not feel his body, but his other senses were greatly heightened. He could taste the acrid air; smell the aroma of death and decay. His throat was clogged, chocking on this evil. His eyes took in the horrific scene, straight from the fiery pit of hell. _

_A black, roiling mass of grotesque shapes covered every inch of the area he found himself in. These monstrous creatures were horrible to behold; tall, hulking things dressed in dark armor, and wielding an assorted array of wicked looking weapons. Most of the behemoths had dark red splotches of blood embroidering their armor and items. Some were small and stumpy, though no less terrifying. Others were more humanoid; the thought disturbed him. Then there were huge Ogres, horns twisting out of their bulbous heads, mouths opened wide and roars bursting forth from their gaping maws. The sounds were deafening. A loud sound to his right startled him from the nightmarish scene. When his eyes landed on the former distraction, his blood ran cold. _

_There, at the forefront of the ghoulish army and looming over them, stood the biggest, most horror-inducing dragon he had ever had the misfortune to see. The dragon was colored an inky, dark black and its eyes were a luminescent green. The dragon extended its powerful wings, the two flapping masses spanning an impressive distance. The dragon's eyes roved around the motley assembly, its eyes burning with a strange intensity. Intelligence was present in the cold green pits. When it was satisfied with its perusing, the beast opened its gigantic mouth, rows upon rows of sharp black teeth glistening maliciously. A roar forced itself out of the dragon's throat and echoing loudly in the surrounding area. The clamoring monsters chanted back towards their leader in a language wholly foreign to the man. Suddenly, the troubling scene started flickering in and out, like the sun as it slowly says goodnight to the philandering day and allows the moon to claim the sky for the night. He tried to keep the scene in focus, but it kept dimming and cracking, until it finally shattered, escaping him completely. _

"Duncan! Duncan, wake up!" The frantic words paired with a dose of unceremonious shoving woke the man up, jolting him from sleep. He hurriedly looked around, his dark eyes almost crazy in its pursuit of the elusive dream. Finally, he calmed down and his eyes landed on the person who woke him. A tall chestnut-haired warrior stood before him, young and impressive in his silver armor. His hair swooped forward on the tip, and his kind eyes were filled with worry. "Oh great, you're finally awake," the warrior spoke, relief evident in his voice. "For a minute there, I thought you would never awaken." The formerly asleep man rubbed at his tired eyes, the dream haunting his thoughts. "It has come, Alistair." The dark-haired Rivaini spoke in a voice laden with fear and weariness.

The warrior, Alistair, stared confusedly at his mentor. A frown marred his handsome face. "What has come Duncan? What did you see that has you troubled so?" The man opened his eyes with a sigh, dark orbs meeting lighter ones. His chilling words would echo in their minds and haunt them for days to come. "The Blight…has come."

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Deep in the forest known as the Korcari Wilds, an old woman whose skin was weathered with age stood, staring out at the landscape around her. Her eyes spoke of wisdom far beyond the years stamped out in the lines on her face." Mother, supper is on. Might I suggest that you get inside, before it is all cold?" Flemeth, as the old woman was called, turned around, not in the least bit surprised at seeing her daughter standing behind her; she had heard the footsteps signaling her approach. The younger woman stood impatiently before her, not even trying to hide it. Her golden eyes locked on her mother, trying to read the expression on her wizened features. "Mother? What are you smiling about? Is the thought of eating cold food a joke, nowadays? If so, I guess I have not gotten the memo." Flemeth quirked her lips at her impudent daughter. Ah, such fire in her! "No, child, it is not a joke, not that I know of. But, knowing your cooking skills, it might be an improvement." Morrigan, the daughter, colored at the barb. Her eyes flashed, hurt and anger the prominent emotions. "As you wish, Mother. I am going to go collect herbs. Don't wait up." With that, the woman stalked off, trying to reclaim her pride that had just been shredded. Flemeth watched her go, a smirk growing on her face. "Such spirit; she will serve me well. Ready yourself, Morrigan: the world is changing, and soon, Ferelden will be swept away. There are things here at work that you cannot know, but will surely be heard soon." Her gaze returned to staring off into the distance. Her time had finally come; the Blight was here.

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	2. Of Nugs & Men

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"Viyka! Wake up!" The dwarf in question groaned, slinging a burly arm over her eyes. She mumbled unintelligible words; they would make an Orlesian proud. "C'mon Viyka! We have another job to do today and we cannot afford to be late!" The annoyance lacing Leske's words filtered in past the flimsy defense her arm provided. As much as she would dearly love to spend minutes laying here in the comfort of her makeshift bed, she knew her friend was right. Letting out another groan, Viyka Brosca sat up, blearily taking in her surroundings. Leske stood over to her right, a frown marring his battle hardened visage. He shook his head at his best friend; however, a fond smile twitched at the corners of his lips. "I take it you slept well, if your snores and anything to go by." Viyka narrowed her eyes playfully at her best mate, a fake heat lighting up her eyes. "Snore? I will have you know that I do not snore whatsoever. You are the one sawing off logs all night long."

Bantering was not a new or unusual occurrence for the two dwarves; the two had been tightly bound together for years now. They shared a common goal: being casteless. When you did not belong to a caste, doors did not open for you. Hell, they were shut up and barred tight while bearing a 'Do Not Admit' sign placed across it. It was a hard, not very pleasant life but the two had done fairly well for themselves. They resided in a small house located in the Slums; all the casteless lived here in Dust Town. The place was nothing to boast about but it was better than what most had. These same bare, crumbling walls were the sight Viyka now took in. The place smelled like nug shit and certainly looked no better, but it was home. Her and Leske's. "So, did Beraht give any clues to what our mission will entail?" Leske shook his head, tattoo a stark contrast against his weathered skin. "Nope, he only told us to meet him at the hideout. Jarvia will most likely be there as well."

Viyka rolled her eyes, a sigh escaping her lips at the new tidbit of information. Jarvia was not nice by any stretch of the imagination; in fact, she was a downright sodding bitch. Beraht was no prize himself, but Jarvia…there was something dark about her. Viyka knew in her gut that the woman was dangerous beyond belief. "Hopefully we will not see her. I cannot think of anything worse than having to look at her and actually be civil." Leske let out a hearty laugh, the rich sound vibrating around the small building. "That's very true indeed. I cannot stand Jarvia for any amount of time. She is just jealous of you." A dark brown eyebrow rose up, silently asking her companion to explain. "What? It's true; you are beautiful, far more so than she could ever hope to be." Brosca just scoffed; she was not beautiful at all. Like all dwarves, she was shorter than humans and a good deal stockier. Her hair was a dark shade of brown that cascaded softly down her broad shoulders. Her face was rather plain, but her eyes made up for any shortcomings. They were a vivid violet in color, practically unheard of in dwarves. Not that Jarvia was a paragon of beauty; even the ugliest nug would win a beauty pageant over her any day.

Viyka slowly stood up on slightly shaking legs, popping the muscles in her back with a drawn-out groan. "Oh well, let's get this over with. The sooner we find out the mission, the sooner it will get completed and less we have to see of Beraht and Jarvia." Leske nodded his agreeance, and left to the other open area to give his friend a little privacy. Viyka shuffled over to the far wall, grabbing the only other clean white jerkin of the two she owned, slipping it on swiftly. She tugged on a pair of leather breeches, slipping her rusty hand-axe through the loops on her makeshift sheath; a dingy rope and a smelly swath of leather. Lastly, her boots. They were old and well-worn, housing several holes in them from nights when nugs ventured in the dilapidated building, hungry and cold. Their snuffling occasionally woke her up, and the unfortunate nug would feed her and Leske, filling their bellies. But Viyka did not always awaken, thus the holes. Her feet slipped into the familiar leather, and she strode from the room with nary a glance. Leske himself had changed into a dark tunic, wearing faded pants that used to be a light tan but looked almost white now. His boots were in the same condition as her own; a sword in need of oiling lay across his broad back.

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"You ready now, Sleeping Beauty?" the dwarf commented playfully. Viyka sniffed in mock derision, turning her head to the side. "I will not deign you with a response. Women of my caliber need not resort to your…breeding." Leske looked at her incredulously; the two promptly burst out into laughter. "Women of your caliber? Oh, that's rich! I highly doubt a woman of royalty would ever be caught dead in nug-eaten boots and faded leathers. They would probably die of a heart conniption. The Aeducans, for example…" Viyka snorted. "I do not give a hoot about the Aeducans, or any of the nobles. They do not care what happens to us, whether we have food to eat or a house to lie under; why should we sit and admire them when our misfortune is their fault?" Leske hummed in agreement, shaking his head sagely. The two dwarves left the slum house, closing the door behind them. Leske led the way, ready to intimidate anyone who got in their way. They had gotten a contract from Beraht, low-life bastard who preyed on the casteless, using them as mere puppets for his bidding. Viyka's own sister, Rica, worked under the man.

Rica Brosca was several years older than Viyka, beautiful by dwarven standards and the possessor of gorgeous red hair, as rare as Viyka's own violet eyes. Beraht had known as soon as he saw Rica that she would be of value. Rica was no fool, but knew her lot in life was not a good one. Obediently, she fell on his every word and he paid for everything for the woman. She became a Noble Hunter, and the crime lord hoped her unusual hair and striking features would land her a noble dwarf and bear him a child, thus elevating Rica to noble status herself. Beraht did not care about Rica or any of his cronies; they were mere tools, and he did not hesitate to discard them if they lost their use or value. Viyka's mother did not approve of her daughter's involvement with Beraht or her youngest child's recent passage into the folds as well. She worried for her babies, but they turned deaf ears. This was the best chance they had; there was no choice. As for Leske, he had no family to speak of; his mother died in childbirth, and his father wanted nothing to do with the whelp. He did have a brother, but Djia had gotten killed in a smuggling venture gone horribly wrong.

The pair was now in front of the door leading into the hideout of the carta; well, one of many entrances to be exact. Beraht did not take any chances; he was not a good guy, but neither was he an idiot. Leske reached into a grimy pocket while Viyka stood watch, violet eyes watching for any prying eyes. The entrance was a well-kept secret, and if Beraht found out they had let it be known…Viyka stared even harder as sweat beaded on her neck at the unpleasant thought. There were other casteless about in the square, but their eyes were all downcast. None of them wanted Beraht's wrath over their heads. The only one who looked even slightly interested was Nadezda. The woman used to work for the carta, until she was caught one day. Her partner had the money to gain freedom from the guards, but Nadezda did not. They broke her kneecaps and forced the woman to sit in dung and filth for hours, laughing at her shivers of pain and cries. She was crippled for life, and subsequently kicked out of the carta. Beraht and Jarvia did not take on those who were useless, and that is exactly what she was deemed. Nadezda looked into Viyka's eyes, her head moving imperceptibly. Viyka acknowledged the slight movement with a twitch of her eyebrows. Nadezda nodded slowly, turning her gaze elsewhere. Leske could be heard behind her, fiddling around for the tiny finger bone that would grant admittance into the hideout. A few curses and mutterings later, a victorious murmur was heard, followed by a click. The two entered through the dusty door, slipping through as silently as shadows.

They passed several other carta members, but none even looked in their direction. They were newbies; fresh blood. No one would give two shits if they were killed or accosted. Viyka followed slightly behind Leske, fingers itching the grab her axe and hold it protectively in front of her chest. Several pairs of eyes took in her form hungrily, and Viyka was thankful for her friend's steady presence. Soon they came to an opening, eyeing Beraht standing in the corner with his lieutenant and lover, Jarvia. Beraht was stout and commanding, brooking no opposement. His dark hair and beard hung loosely over the collar of his tunic, embroidered in gold and a far sight nicer than anything Viyka had ever worn on her body. Dark eyes shot towards her and Leske, taking in the clothes and weapons. Jarvia spared them a slight glance, wrinkling her nose in distaste. She moved closer to Beraht possessively, shooting Viyka a glare. Viyka had to stifle the urge to roll her eyes, or shoot up an eyebrow. "So you finally decided to grace us with your presence, eh?" Beraht's voice was a rumbling growl, barely concealed anger suffusing his deep tones. Leske bowed his head humbly, transforming into a subservient lackey in a matter of seconds. Dark eyes stared beseechingly at the carta leader, hands held out in supplication. "I beg your pardon sir; there were some…complications this morning. Meaningless distractions who took away precious time, thus putting us in the current position. We are truly sorry, sir."

Pitch black orbs turned from Leske to Viyka, boring into her like knives. "Well? Is his words true?" Swallowing her nerves, Viyka shook her head. "Yes sir, he speaks true. In order to avoid any unnecessary and potentially dangerous questions, we had to let the people speak there pieces, in order to get here." Beraht narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, before scratching his scraggly beard. "Very well; good thinking you two. It is imperative that our location is never found; don't want the authorities knowing how to find us, do we?" Leske and Viyka performed their required duties, making their opinion of the matter known (which meant agreeing with the leader). "Enough about that; I have a mission for you both, to prove to me that you are worthy of becoming full-scale carta members. A smuggler, Oskias, has been under my employment for some time now. Seedy sodder, but good at what he does. However, it has been brought to my attention that he has been keeping a good portion of the goods for himself, costing me a great deal of money. Money that was promised me." Jarvia cackled evilly beside her lover, cruel eyes lighting up at the words that were on the tip of the carta leader's tongue. "Betrayal will not be tolerated; I will _not_ be made a fool of! Oskias frequents the Tapster's Tavern, as he certainly likes his ale. I want you two to go to the tavern and confront Oskias; kill him. No mercy, and no second chances. Do this successfully, and you will be inducted into official carta ranks. But, know this; if you let him go free, or accept any bribes that he will surely offer, I will know. And, I will destroy you. Heed my words, you two, as I am not a man to be trifled with, as Oskias will soon become aware. Now, dismissed!"

Viyka and Leske bowed low, turning for the door to fulfill their mission. They quickly left the room and started walking down the hallways towards the way out. Nothing was spoken; too many eyes and ears inside for comfortable conversation. "Stop!" The commanding tone stopped the two dead in their tracks. They slowly turned, looking at the lieutenant. Her moss green eyes pierced Viyka, rooting her in her spot. "I know Beraht already warned you, but allow me to issue my own: do not fail us on this. You see where Oskias is ending up; he will perish whether you are the ones wielding the scythe or not. You do not screw over the carta. We own you, and every other member. Beraht is a good deal kinder than I; if I were in charge, you would not even get this chance, nor would you even be in the carta. We need warriors, people to depend on. You two…I know you will betray us in a heartbeat. So you had better seal the deal here, otherwise you won't be walking out alive. You can bet on that." With the warning hanging in the air over the two dwarves' heads, Jarvia sauntered off. The partners stood shell-shocked for a minute, before turning tail and leaving the hide-out. "Whew, she was certainly chipper today..." Leske mumbled sarcastically. "Yeah, she is a real charmer alright." Viyka shook her brown mane, tossing the memory from her head. "Okay, let's go get our smuggler."

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It turned out Oskias was indeed at Tapster's, happily drinking away what few brain cells he still possessed. He did not recognize the two, so his guard was down. Leske took point and led the two-some to the drunken smuggler, intent on ending this quickly. Viyka followed in behind, moving to stand close to Oskias's side in case he decided to flee. The inebriated smuggler soon sobered once it dawned on his addled mind what was happening; he tried to bribe them with a sizeable nugget of pure lyrium. The little nugget was a shade darker than the youngest Brosca's eyes, and sparkled prettily. The man begged and pleaded, saying Beraht had left him no choice. Viyka felt sorry for the dwarf, as he was only making a living like Beraht himself. Sure he was a thief, but did he really deserve to be killed? She lowered her hand off the axe, opening her mouth to release Oskias. A flash blinded her momentarily; she turned back and gasped in horror. Oskias's throat had been slashed, blood pouring from the open wound. Leske stood in front of the now dead smuggler, face impassive and weathered sword dripping blood onto the floor. Leske quickly snatched up the lyrium nugget and pocketed it. Darkened violet optics zeroed in on her best friend; she was not sure she recognized what she saw. Leske turned towards her, reading the question burning on the tip of her tongue. "I had no choice, Viyka. I did not want to kill him, but it was us or him. You heard both Beraht and Jarvia; if we let Oskias live, death would swiftly follow. This is the world we live in. You either learn to adapt and toughen up…or die young."

Although Viyka did not like what happened, she knew they did not have a choice in the matter. So, with a heavy heart she trudged after Leske, heading back to Beraht to inform him of their success. The two had just hit the bottom step in front of the building when a large crowd marched by, shouting protestations in booming voices. Leske and Viyka shared a look full of confusion; Brosca quickly accosted one of the stragglers in the back of the line. "Excuse me miss, but what is going on?" The dwarf's eyes were alight with vigor, so much so that in her excitement she had not noticed the mark marring her cheek, labeling her as a casteless. "There has been uproar in nobility today. The royal family has been turned topsy-turvy; the eldest Aeducan, Trian, has been murdered. His brother Bhorr has been accused of his murder. They are taking Bhorr to a cell today; the trial over Train's murder will be held tomorrow." Viyka was stunned; Trian was not well-loved amidst the people, but as the eldest he would be taking over the throne once King Endrin stepped down. Bhorr, however, was very popular amongst the people. He was infallibly kind and courteous and did not think himself above others despite his elevated status. With Trian dead and Bhorr standing trial, that meant Bhelen would end up being king…she was not sure if that would be a good idea or not. "Thank you for telling me, miss. I will let you get back to what you were doing." The dwarven midwife shook her head, but then her eyes zeroed in on the tattoo setting stark against Viyka's tanned cheek. "Oh my…ancestors forgive me! I have been consulting with a casteless! Oh, the paragons!" Viyka and Leske backed away slowly, trying to calm the bereaved woman with their hands. "Look, lady, I-" "No! No, don't you talk to me! You and your kind are nothing but filth! I should never have told you what is going on; the royal family has enough going on without _casteless _trying to weasel their way into our lives. So go crawl back into your hole and leave us folk alone. We have enough to worry about." Spitting on the ground at Viyka's feet in disgust, the woman turned her back on them and walked away, joining the procession once again. Viyka slumped, her shoulders sagging. _This is what we have to look forward to_, she thought. _Anger, fear…hatred…nobody gives a shit about a couple of casteless. They never will_.

Leske's face was a thundercloud of barely suppressed fury. His burly arms were at his sides, the tendons standing out starkly against his skin. His dark eyes were pitch black by this point, and Viyka was almost afraid for that woman's life. _Almost_. Leske would never hurt someone…right? An image of Oskias sitting in his chair, ale by his limp hand and blood trailing down his throat, and Leske staring stone-faced at his handiwork came unbidden to her mind. No, he did not do it because he wanted to. Survival…that is what we do. It is what all casteless must do to survive. The two junior carta initiates ran back to Dust Town, not wanting Oskias's murder to follow back to them. The death had been relatively quiet and all the other patrons were so drunk that they had no clue of the dark deed performed towards the back of the establishment. Looking back over their respective shoulders, they swiftly and silently entered through the hide-out door in the middle of the square. They traversed the same path taken earlier, finding Beraht sitting at a ram-shackle table drinking a tankard of the finest dwarven ale. He looked almost surprised that they had returned so soon; suspicion was prominent. "Well well, aren't you back soon? It has only been a smidgeon over an hour since you were here last. I take it Oskias won't be a problem anymore?" He leaned forward in his seat, intent on the answer. This time, Viyka took charge.

"Oskias has been…dealt with. We were discreet, and as inebriated as the other attendees were it will not be discovered for a while." "Good, good. I am pleased that the job went off without a hitch; my assets will no longer be kept from me. You both have proven yourselves worthy of being with the carta; I will send a contact to inform you of your next job." Beraht turned around, obviously dismissing them. Leske moved forward, wringing his hands for a moment. "Sir, there is…something else. We received some information before we arrived, information that you might deem invaluable." The crime lord swiveled around in his seat, studying the pair. Viyka was surprised that Jarvia was not with him; must be out making others' lives miserable. "Oh? And what information might that be?" Leske swallowed hard, before continuing. "When we left Tapster's, we ran into a large crowd. One of the marchers told us that the Aeducans are in a spot of trouble." "The Aeducans? In trouble? Spit it out, man!" "Well, it seems that Trian Aeducan has been...murdered and his brother Bhorr has been named his killer." Viyka had never seen Beraht move so fast or look so excited. He grabbed Leske by the chest, pulling him until their faces were an inch apart. Crazed eyes bore into Leske, chilling him to the core. "You are sure of this?" Viyka stepped forward, clearing her throat. "The trial is tomorrow, sir. Bhorr will face the charges set before him…everyone will be in attendance."

"This is wonderful news. Since the Aeducans are the royal family, everybody will be in attendance. Yes…yes, this could work out in our favor. Change of plans, you two. Your mission will be tomorrow, during the time the trial is supposed to start. I have something that needs urgent attention, and tomorrow will be the perfect time for it to happen. I will send someone to you tomorrow for all the details. I expect you both to perform it as well as today; do not disappoint me. Is that clear?" Leske stepped forward. "Yes sir, we will do as you say and the mission will go off without a hitch." Beraht nodded sagely, satisfied at the loyal words. "Good. Now, get some rest while you are able. You two will need to be at your best for the mission." Viyka and Leske inclined their heads, leaving the room and heading towards the house they both shared.

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"Well, here we are: Orzammar." Alistair looked around in awe of the various works erected by the finest dwarven craftsmen around. Nothing in Ferelden quite compared to the awesome beauty of the monoliths sprinkled generously throughout the great halls of one of the last remaining dwarven strongholds. "This place is amazing! These structures…they are beyond even the skills of the best Ferelden has to offer." Duncan walked beside his young charge, chuckling at the junior Warden's interest. "Yes, Orzammar is quite the sight. I have been here on many occasion myself. But, unfortunately we do not have time to sightsee; we must find an initiate from the pool of dwarves here. I have my eye on one of the royal family; there are three Aeducans in all. My eye is on the middle son. I have heard much about him, and my gut tells me that he would be a fine grey Warden." Alistair glanced around thoughtfully. "Well being part of the royal family should mean he has been exposed to leading men into battle. Or at least commanding others. If he is as you say, he should do well." Alistair grinned, pearly whites flashing briefly. "Besides, it would be nice to no longer be the youngest Warden!" Duncan laughed, shaking his head at the young man by his side. Oh, Fiona would have loved to see her son blossom…Duncan was shaken from his musings by a loud cacophony resonating to his right.

Turning, Duncan and Alistair witnessed a veritable platoon of dwarves heading their way, looking varying shades of distressed, angry and determined. "What in the blazes is going on around here?" Duncan, perplexed, voiced his thoughts. "Maybe something of a political sort?" Duncan shook his head, dismissing Alistair's words. "No…I have seen the politics or the dwarves. This…this is something altogether different." _"Long live Aeducan! Let Bhorr go!"_ _"Free Bhorr!"_ _"Remember Trian!"_ The shouts from the paraders floated to the ears of the Grey Wardens. Duncan and Alistair shared an incredulous look. Bhorr Aeducan was on being accused of his own brother's murder? _Suddenly this recruitment mission just took a turn for the worse…_

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